“Jesus Christ,” Sierra muttered, but let Beck keep the note.
“Whoever this person is, they’re brave, planting these messages right under Ranielle’s nose,” Carter said. “If they’re really certain she’s the killer, anyway.”
“And they’re posting them online,” Sierra added. “Mind Hack would already have this note, right?”
“Actually,” said Beck, “I was thinking—”
“Where the hell have you been?” Gabriela demanded as Jarius swaggered into the room. “We’re due in the costume room in, like, two minutes.”
Sierra recognized the tone. Her team had used it on each other for the entirety of last season. There was anger under the words. Frustration. Even hatred.
Once again, the producers had found despicable people and put them together to snipe and bicker and invoke audience hostility.
The villains.
Sierra eyed Carter and Beck. While of course Team Helsing had also been subject to the mind games, they hadn’t reacted with anywhere near as much ferocity.
But Sierra was this season’s villain. So why had she been put with the likable ones? The . . . heroes?
Was Team Helsing being set up to win?
It made no sense.
Jarius shot Sierra, Beck, and Carter a smirk. “Getting a few things organized. Some . . . insurance, you might say.”
“Why does that give me anicy fingers on my spinefeeling?” Beck said.
Jarius cackled. “Spot-on instincts, little worm.” He launched himself onto a couch and tucked his hands behind his head, refusing to answer any more of his team’s questions.
When Beck and Carter looked at Sierra with wide eyes, she said, “Forget that. What were you saying, Beck?”
“I was wondering if maybe the Real Game Master is a set designer. You know, they have those trolleys full of stuff. One of them could easily slip things into the rooms while they’re being reset.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Sierra said. She tried to think back to last season, if there were any set designers she recognized, but the faces were a blur.
Team Dread was called away for costumes, and after an agonizingly long time, Adi finally returned. “You’re up for interviews, boss.”
“One sec,” Sierra said, gesturing for Beck. “Note, quickly!”
They headed to the giant mirror on the side wall, and Beck unscrolled the note. Sierra leaned forward, frowning at the reflection.
Are we feeling nervous yet, O Murderer?
That’s right. I’m still here. I bet you regret jumping to conclusions, don’t you? I know Louis didn’t kill himself.
Because I’m the Game Master. The REAL Game Master. And soon, everyone will know the truth. About me. About you. About Alicia. This is your last chance to end it on your own terms. I dare you to confess before I tell the whole world what you really are.
The finale is coming . . . tick tick.
39
Adi
The elimination filming was so long that, despite the fact theywere supposed to be in suspense, Adi kept tuning out. First, Fitzy had gone on and on about Louis’s tragic death. Then they’d watched the in memoriam that had been cobbled together last-minute, showing boring highlights from Louis’s life—everything from winning a national spelling bee to marrying Ranielle. Then a bunch of past contestants showed up to talk about their memories of the great Game Master. Last, Ranielle spent a few minutes in front of the cameras, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief while she lied through her teeth about how upset she was.
While Ranielle spoke, Adi’s thoughts were on clues and lies, and an imagined vision of Alicia Angelos lying dead and wet in that coffin.
Suffocation. Gloves over the face. Hosed down to remove DNA. Would require immense strength . . .
